 Good evening. This is Crime Classics. I am Thomas Highland with another true story of crime. Listen. Marie Magdalene, the Marquise de Brinvilliers, pouring corrosive sublimit in solution into a beaker. Add a pinch of lead arsenate. Sprinkle flour of quince. Heaping teaspoonful of calcium vitriol. Swish it around to make everything go into solution. And since pigeon pie, unpoisoned, that is, was her daddy's favorite dish, especially the way she made it, just like mom, pour all the solution onto a pigeon pie. Pie? See how lovely. Tonight, my report to you on the lethal habit of the Marquise de Brinvilliers. Crime Classics. A series of true crime stories taken from the records and newspapers of every land from every time. Your host each week, Mr. Thomas Highland, connoisseur of crime. Student of violence and teller of murders. Now, once again, Mr. Thomas Highland. France just about went broke under Louis XIV. What with building Versailles and some other minor palaces, and what with his peccadillos and lavishments to say nothing of la fer d'etroits chevaux, Louis brought practically all of France to its knees. However, to be an aristocrat at this time was a very fine thing. Louis took care of his friends. If he couldn't get it for you, it couldn't be had. And one of his favorites, a fortunate man who had the run of the palace was a Marquis named Henri de Brinvilliers. One of his favorite rooms was the dueling chamber. His favorite sport du jour. Now, guard yourself. Touche, you touched me. Did you like that defense, Godin? Very much. I thought this new attack I learned would surely confound you. You are young. You get better all the time. Thank you. Another bout, Henri? Oh, no, enough now. I have an appointment in a little time. The Duke of Provence returned now from Africa. He brought Curie Godin. Will you join me? No, I'm sorry, but I cannot. What should be most amusing? I have an appointment with your wife. Can I tell you? Yes, and I forgot. Go down. Take some roses to her for me. Tell her I adore her. Tell her I'll meet her at Louis' party later. And for heaven's sake, not to wear that shepherdess thing she wears. Oh, she won't be able to meet you. I have an appointment with her for this evening, too. We're visiting the doctor Muriac, who is discursing on the philosophy of Aristotle. Oh, she'll enjoy that. Henri told me yesterday that the two of you had a salon at Painter-Blier, and how much she enjoyed it. I only wish I had the time to... Do not disturb yourself with the thought I'm more than happy to accommodate the murkies. Good friend. Trust me always. Oh, I do. Maddie? Yes, beloved. Yes, my cavalier. Yes, my lord. Your husband? What of him, beloved cavalier, lord? He is my friend. Now listen. Yes. You are his friend even more than he is yours. Oh? To escort me, therefore assuming his responsibilities taught me. Therefore keeping me in constant joy. Therefore not calling him to task that he comes home or more. True. Even tonight he is at the Duke of Provence, examining curios from Africa. And other nights, curios, treasures. Then what you say is very true. You are a very good friend to him. True. However... What? This evening we're to visit Dr. Muriak. So I told your husband. Mm, philosophies of Aristotle. Together we could learn a truth that Aristotle never dreamed of. Oh cavalier. Oh, beloved. Oh yes, yes. Marie. Papa. Arrest that man. Your day has come, Guna Sacroix. As magistrate of Paris, I order these men to take you to the Bastille. Papa. But sir, your honor, your daughter and I were just making ready to go to collect. Take him out. Dr. Muriak and Aristotle. Marie, wake up. That will rid you of him, Marie. Remember, you are a maquis. You are a wife. As long as I am your father, your marriage will be an honorable one. Goudin Sancroix was charged with molesting tranquility, a catch-all ordinance of the day. And when he appeared before the court, well, you know who was sitting on the bench. Papa, the maquis's father. And he was such a good father, so concerned with his daughter's tranquility that Goudin got the limit of the law. Three years in the Bastille. In jail he was not what you'd call a mixer. He read a lot and mostly used to sit on the stone floor at the feet of one Exilly Fortunato. Exilly was a lifer, having practically wiped out a small village in the south of France by poison, an experimenter, alchemist and scientist that he was. Elixir of Tony Berry, which berries gathered near the quarter moon will produce a withering of the chest cavity, death in three days. I remember that one. Acid of sulfur has starred into a broth of infernal stones and ladle gently into the ear with... But this must be done when the subject sleeps. True. One that causes a quick and classic pain. It is quick and leaves no trace, Exilly. Lead arsenate, tripled distilled, desiccate the flower of quints and sprinkle it, then calcined vitriol. And you are king of the world. And it was that last one Goudin remembered. All in all, it was not a bad three years. When Goudin left the Bastille, he knew more about poisons than any man in France. It was a spring day when he was released and Marie had waited. As a matter of fact, she greeted him when he walked from the darkness of prison into the sunlight of April. Goudin, Goudin, beloved, beloved Cavalier. Oh, Goudin, Goudin, hold me thus forever. Oh, but how long we will be together, I do not know for papa. Let us poison your papa. What did you say? Let us poison your papa. A suggestion of excellence. Yes. Pluck the thorn and gain a rose. Oh? For papa is very rich and he has a will and I am his favorite. Killing two unicorns with one dart. Yes. Goudin. Yes. The poison. The chivalier Sainte-Croix wishes to give you something. Yes, madame. Yes, monsieur. A sweet for a pretty serving girl. Oh, yes, monsieur. A triangle tart of honey and crushed puppy seeds. Take it. Take it, madame. Yes, monsieur. Eat it, madame. Yes, madame. Is it good? Yes, madame. Still good? Yes, madame. Well? What is it, madame? Still? The heart were being... Pricked with needles? Yes, monsieur. And a great wave of blackness. Here. I told you, madame. And now my head as if a sheet of red paint like a terrible curtain were descending. And... Love it. Is she dead? Quite. It works. The poison I concocted is deadly and quick. Oh, my thanks to you, Exile, you're the best to you. For truly it is, as you said. I feel as if I am king of the world. Command me. Command me. Scientific approach. The formula. The experiment. The proof. Marie de Brinvilliers gave the body of her serving girl to the surgeons for which she was profusely thanked. And a week later, Godin, having taught Marie everything he knew, you remember. She poured the corrosive sublimate into a beaker. Now add a pinch of lead arsonate. Sprinkle the flour of quince. Heaping teaspoonful of calcium vitriol. Swish it around. Then pour it all onto a pigeon pie. Papa, here is your pigeon pie. See how lovely it looks. Eat it, papa. I want to. Is it good? Oh, yes. Still good? The best you've made. Well. Hi. Marie. Do you have a tingling, papa, as if your heart were being pricked with needles? Yes. And is there a great wave of blackness? Right here. And now in your head does a sheet of red paint descend like a terrible curtain? Marie then did this. She listened to her daddy's heart. It wasn't beating. She gave him the mirror test for breath. He wasn't breathing. She stuck him with a needle. No reaction. Then she sat down and had a glass of wine. Then, knowing that an alarm should be given, she did this. She yelled at everybody. And papa sure was. You are listening to crime classics and your host, Thomas Highland. Another big weekend coming up. The lore of an extra day off is sure to bring out a flood tide of weekend drivers. A word of reminder to drivers and pedestrians alike, it's the peak traffic loads that cause most accidents. If you're going somewhere, leave early and take your time. Don't commit yourself to drive under rush conditions. Drive carefully holidays, all the days. Drive to survive. Now, once again, Thomas Highland in the second act of crime classics. In his report to you on the lethal habit of the Marquise de Branverier. A few words about how a notable was buried in 17th century Paris. The whole court turned out if the weather was nice, if it were in Clement, the whole court sent emissaries. On that day in 1673, when the Marquise de Branverier's papa was buried, the weather was nice. Magistrates from all over France were his pallbearers. Before his coffin, a court jester, attired in black, capered in solemn dance. Following the beer, ladies of the court and the ladies in waiting walked slowly, weeping. The courtiers came next, with lace and black plume. Papa was buried in Sacred Heart Cemetery. An honored figure revered a colossus of justice. It's interesting to note that immediately after his coffin was lowered into the ground, an unknown young woman threw herself upon it and could not be dragged away. Only after she realized that she was being buried alive did she hold up her hand for help. Well, papa got buried. And it was written on the records that his death was due to Scalzi, a magistrates' malady. Doddering fool, the doctor. But a benefactor, love. Oh, smile, love. Lift your face to mine. Let me place a smile upon it. Come. No. I am not to be touched in this black mood. What can trouble you now that your papa is dead? What can... We've been tricked. How? Immediately he was dead. His man of law was summoned and I had him read papa's will. And? Papa left all his money to my brothers, to Jean and to Francois. To you? Nothing. Merely this. A scrap of paper. Read it. A woman who is untrue to her husband is untrue to herself. A woman who is untrue to herself will be untrue to her lover. A woman who is untrue to her lover is below the beast to be scorned. What does he mean, untrue to your lover? He was mad. I was in prison three years. My father was mad. Yes. Merely. Yes? What of your husband, does he know of the will? He is in Italy. A Truscan Curios. And do what I ask. Raise your face to mine. No. My love. No. I have no heart for it. That wealth to Jean and Francois. That wealth to a pair of unbright youths. A pair of loons and dullards who look upon jewels as bobbles. Who look upon gold as something to exclaim over because it shines. Who look upon... Let us poison Jean Francois. What? Let us poison Jean Francois. A suggestion of excellence. Now lift your face to me. Yes. They had to come this far. These stars struck lovers. This far. And this was really the beginning of it. An orgy of poisoning that sent a shutter through all the land. Before they were finished so many people died that Paris thought she was in the grip of a strange epidemic. But the beginning then. In the charity hospital of Saint-Vercourt and not a large place and run by donations and the largesse of doctors and nurses. One of the nurses was named Angelina Muirer. And this is how it went. Nurse Angelina. Yes. I am the Marquis de Brun Vier. I am delighted. I wish to help. I am delighted to read to the patients. I wish to work in the kitchen. Such as you? In the kitchen. We welcome you. Somehow and history does not know why the lovers decided not to use the same poison as killed papa but to try out others to experiment. Somehow there are caught up in the idea of killing with powders and distillates. So Mary Magdalene de Brun Vier went to work in the hospital kitchen. There she seasoned three dishes with her own condiments. A pudding sprinkled with elixir of hashish and cinnamon. Another, a sauce. Compounded of bismuth and strickenen and turpentine. And the third, a fruit drink in which was dissolved a bit of opium, lye and digitalis. And next day. So sad Marquis. What is? Two deaths. Who? Monsieur Gourmier. So sad. I fed him a sauce yesterday. Just yesterday. And mademoiselle de Blanc. So sad. I made a delicious orangeade yesterday. Just yesterday. She shriveled and died. And the youth in her rosé languishes. So sad. I fed a pudding to him yesterday. Just yesterday. He's turning a strange color. And he is dying. So sad. So, so sad. Opium, lye and digitalis. In prison actually said it was one of the most efficient. Oh, and he is right. A person shrivels and dies. And then your brothers. Now. But now. Oh, so anxious you were. Oh, there is a fascination in this goudin. A thing you said. King of the world. King of the world. And now I know it. Yes. And now my brother Jean is in his bedroom. Take this melon to him. It's seasoned well. And you? I'll take this other melon to my brother Francois. Come. And when this day is over, the wealth of papa will be ours. Jean's room is right there. And when it is over. I'll fly to you. And for now farewell. Go down. How pleasant to see you. And what have you there? A melon. Oh, I'll wager my sister send it to me knowing how I love melon. Mmm. Mmm. Succulent. Sweet. Such a delicate flavor that fairly melts in the... It is done. Wait. Sister of my heart. How lovely you are this morning bringing melon to me. Red is your blushing cheek. Oh, what a night was mine last sister. Recall the baroness of Vermont. She who never opens her mouth. She who lavishes silences upon all who... Oh, delectable melon is delectable as... Go down. Beloved. You the king of the world and I the queen. Beloved. Beloved. She liked it. It was an ecstasy. At first, Godin looked a bit of scance at her enthusiasm which more than matched his own. But after a while... My life, my love to have deserved you. Not only deserved her, Sardonyx would say he was stuck with her because the habit became immediate. All she had to do was not like somebody and that was the end of somebody. I don't think for a minute, however, that Cavalier Godin was just whipping up the potions and watching. The Count de Longier, he'd snub Godin. Mademoiselle Picard, she'd snubbed him too. It got so that people wishing other people dead would come to marry and or Godin and commission a murder. Never was there a failure. I love you, Godin. I love you, Marie. Lovers. Murderers. And later. I love you, Marie. I'll see you Monday. But they kept on poisoning. This is when Paris thought she was in the midst of an epidemic until Monsieur de Grey. He was a detective and he suspected things and his suspicions led him to marry Magdalene de Bravilliers. They met at a horse race. How fortunate you are. I beg your pardon. How lovely you are. How alone you are. No longer. Which blossomed? Kiss me. Now kiss me. And flowered. Pierre, couple here, beloved my lord. Marie, Marie. Pierre. Yes? What do you do? What do you mean? As a living. I'm a policeman. What? I'm a policeman. What? Policeman. Detective. Of what? Crimes. I see. Why do you frown? Oh, no matter. Then I have all your love? Yes. What if you're a husband? In Africa, finally. And I've heard. What? There is a young man. You've heard. That his name is Gaudin-Sainte-Croix. Marie. Yes? I must tell you, my love for you is only half a love. As yours is for me. What are you saying? I cannot love you fully while this man exists. For as long as he lives, you must bear some love for him, therefore not all your love for me. Then what shall I do? I do not know. Dear Pierre. Yes? You wait here. Gaudin. Gaudin, beloved Howard. I've neglected you. And how I've missed you. And how burns my love for you. Quench this fire with your kisses. Oh, yes. And kiss me once again. And again. Wasn't that your death, sweet Gaudin? Farewell, Gaudin. Beloved. Oh, no, no. Don't kiss me. Wait. For what? For there still may be poison on my lips. What? I gave Gaudin a sweet death. He kissed me three times and died. What? Listen, how clever. I daubed my lips with a sealing oil, and upon this I placed a poison, so that myself I could not absorb the poison. But whoever kissed me... Died. Yes. And now Gaudin is dead. Yes. And you killed him. Yes, yes. Oh, yes. For you, beloved. Killed him for... You were under arrest. What? Murderous. Pierre. Vile. Evil. Oh, my love I gave to you. Horror. You tricked me. Tricked me. Beast. Beast. Marie Magdalene de Brunville was tried and found guilty. She was sentenced to be garoted. In jail she went mad, and while awaiting her execution, she had hallucinations that all the food had been poisoned. So she didn't touch anything. So she starved to death. Her husband, incidentally, never came back from Africa. In just a moment, Thomas Highland will tell you about next week's crime classic. The Marquis de Brunvilleier, tonight's crime classic, was adapted from the original court reports and newspaper accounts by Morton Fine and David Friedkin. The music of Francois Couperin was adapted and conducted by Bernard Herman, and the program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. Thomas Highland is portrayed on radio by Lou Merrill. In tonight's story, Mary Jane Croft has heard as Marie and Lamont Johnson has gone down. Featured in the cast were her Butterfield, Joseph Kearns, Truda Marson, Irene Tedrow, Chef Menken, and Barney Phillips, Bob Lamont speaking. Here again is Thomas Highland. Next week, Northampton, Massachusetts, in the year 1815. It was usual then to get yourself executed in front of a good-sized audience. And for a murderer with stage fright, that was tough. Which is why next week's report is listed in my files as Mr. Jonathan Jewett, how most peculiarly he cheated the hangman. You've had your crime classics for this week, but still ahead tomorrow night on most of these CBS radio stations are a group of classics and comedy. Thursday nights, when you meet Millie, starring Elena Verdugo, well-intentioned Millie Bronson and her mama try to help a neighbor in distress and get taken to the cleaners. So tomorrow night, don't forget to meet Mr. McNuttley starring Ray Milland. Classics and comedy Thursday night at the Starz Address. Friday nights enjoy a full-hour Arthur Godfrey digest on the CBS Radio Network.